


Springing Eternal

by FearNoEvil



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ALL: Forbidden magic exists that can be used to raise the dead, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Merlin and Gwen working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 22:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearNoEvil/pseuds/FearNoEvil
Summary: Merlin's best friend and Gwen's husband have fallen to will of destiny.  Merlin is resigned, but Gwen does not set quite as much store by it.  She is the queen of Camelot, and she'll neither let her husband be dead nor her best friend sink in despair without a fight.





	Springing Eternal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spellboundreader316](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellboundreader316/gifts).



Arthur was gone.

Guinevere, Queen of Camelot, could feel it in her bones – an ache without ease that pressed against her heart, her eyes, her lungs, so that she could hardly breathe.  She knew it the moment it happened.  She knew it hours before Merlin returned home, dragging the weight of it with him in his bowed head and his deadened, misty eyes.

“It was – destiny,” Merlin told her hollowly, not daring to look her in the eyes.  To see her grief, her reproach, would break him as he was now.  It was he, after all, as Arthur’s constant guardian, who had let the love of her life die.  It was she, the noblest woman in Camelot, who was always to pay for the foolishness and failures of those around her.  She was not half as angry, in general, as she had the right to be, but toward him – now –

“Destiny?” Gwen repeated, in an ominously heated voice.  Merlin flinched.  She could smell the excuse, the self-justification of that word.  She wasn’t buying it.

“I’m sorry, Gwen,” Merlin breathed hopelessly, shaking his head.  “Kilgarrah explained – it was always meant to happen like this.  He will return in Albion’s greatest need, but now –”  Merlin’s voice died.  He took a breath and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Merlin,” said Gwen with pity, “it wasn’t your fault.”

Suddenly, they were locked in each other’s arms, both weeping, burying their faces in each other’s shoulders.  Together, as if simultaneously struck by the weight of it, they sunk together to the cold stone floor.

“I need him now,” Gwen sobbed. “I need him _now_.”

 Merlin, for his part, could not utter a single word – only squeeze her tighter.  So there on the floor of the corridor they sat together, sniffling, for a long, long moment.

When Gwen finally spoke again, it was over an hour later, and it was is if there had been no break in their speech.

“I only meant,” Gwen continued suddenly, as they sat together in Gaius’s chambers, “that for my part, I never believed in destiny.” 

Surprised, Merlin looked up, swallowing.  Gwen’s eyes were still wet, but her expression was firm.

“Gwen,” he said imploringly, “destiny is – it – it can’t be – it’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” Gwen repeated, with the same ominous heat to her voice.  “You know what was impossible, Merlin?  You keeping your magic a secret all these years from Arthur and I!”

Merlin flinched again and stared in shock, but Gwen was not finished.

“What was impossible was that commoners like Elyan and Lancelot became knights of the round table, that a girl like me could marry –” her voice faltered “—could marry the King!  That I became the Queen!  You may say it’s impossible, Merlin, but we’ve _done_ the impossible before!”

“Gwen, how did you –?” Merlin began.

“Gaius,” she replied.  “And Merlin, it doesn’t change anything – between you and me.  It actually explains a lot, and how much I have to thank you for. And now I’m Queen, I think you know what my first decree will be.”

When it sunk it what she meant, Merlin’s eyes flooded with tears again, this time tears of joy and relief.  “Thank you,” he breathed.

Gwen set her hand on his shoulder.  “And the thing I find most impossible, Merlin?” she whispered gently.  “That with all your power and all your wisdom and knowledge, you’ve given up.”

“Gwen,” Merlin repeated.  “It’s –”

“Impossible, again?  Or is it destiny, again?  You know, I’m banning both of those words,” Gwen said stubbornly.  “That’ll be my second decree.”

Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle.  “It _was_ going to be ‘impossible.’”

“Magic is impossible,” Gwen countered.  “And yet _you’re_ right here.  Magic is a _miracle_ , Merlin.  You’re a miracle.  And miracles can change fate.  There’s got to be something.  That old man, Emrys –”

“He was me,” Merlin said flatly.  “A disguise.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, taken aback.  “Thank you for saving me, then.”

Merlin managed a grin.  “Any time.”

“Alright, well, if not him, then someone has to know something.  And if we make all the sorcerers welcome, let them be free to show their powers, one of them bound to have some secret ways.”

“No magic can wake the dead, Gwen,” Merlin said heavily.  “I’m sorry, but there’s no hope.”

Gwen shook her head, rubbed her hand across Merlin’s back again.  “There is always hope,” she said tenderly.  She continued to stroke his back comfortingly, but after a moment she stood, and Merlin watched her.  Her whole bearing had changed.  She looked regal now, commanding.  Like she could command the sun, command the stars of fate and destiny.  Suddenly, a tiny spark in Merlin’s weary, weary heart began to believe her. It believed firmly that if anyone could change the stars of Albion, it was Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.

“There is always hope,” she repeated.

Her decree was issued within the week, and magic-users across the nation rejoiced in their freedom.  In short order, she was conferring with them on the topic of turning back time, reversing death.  What had happened to Lancelot was not true resurrection.  None had what she needed, they each shook their head apologetically, and told her it was impossible.  The prophets among all told her the same: that Arthur’s passing was the will of destiny.  The general consensus of the populace was that the poor dear Queen was in denial that her husband was irreversibly gone.

Merlin and Gaius, meanwhile, pored, by the Queen’s strict command, through nearly every volume in their library for mention of the art of reversing death.  What had happened with Freya?  How could she remain in whatever form it was?  Morgana had once been saved from a fatal injury; the same could have been done for Uther; but near-death was a different story from actual death.

“What does Albion’s greatest need entail?” wondered Merlin.  “Could we simulate it?”

“What about time travel?” Gwen conjectured.  “Is that possible?  Could we go back somehow and save him?”

In the end, the answer did not come until Samhain, when a strange old druid came to share the feast.

“It’s always my favorite day of the year,” she said, “When the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.  I can hear my children talking to me.”

“What do they tell you?” Gwen asked.

“They invite me to come join them.  It’s the end of my life, I wouldn’t mind it.  But I’d never make it to them in mortal form.  The Dorocha would get to me first, and then there’d be nothing left of me.”

“Is that possible?  To enter the spirit world without dying yourself?” Merlin wondered.

“Of course it is,” she replied.  “If the Cailleach is an old friend.”

A chill ran through Merlin at the mere mention of her, a flash of memory: her bitter laughter, her sad eyes.  “She can let you through?” Gwen pressed.

“She’s the gatekeeper; she can do as she pleases, and she does get lonely on the other side.  But the other side is hostile to the souls of the living.  The Dorocha will get you before you take two steps.”

“The Dorocha didn’t kill me last time,” Merlin said, turning to Gwen.  “Gwen, I think we have our means.”

The Cailleach was, after all, indifferent to destiny, but had a measure of respect for the famed and fated Emrys.

“You’ve got to stay for Camelot,” Merlin told Gwen firmly, as they both stood before the Cailleach in her lair, who waited to escort the torch-bearing Merlin to her hostile home.  “They need their Queen.  Besides, if I really do get a hold of Arthur, he’ll kill me for putting you in danger.”

Gwen gave a watery laugh. Apprehension flowed freely through both of them; Merlin recalled how the Dorocha’s strike had felt, how his magic had had no effect on them.  But he had braved worse for Arthur’s sake.  He would brave worse any day, too, for Gwen.

“Take my hand, Emrys,” the Cailleach commanded, in her ragged, ominous voice.  Merlin nodded to her, looked back once more at Gwen.

“I’ll bring him back, Gwen,” he promised.

“Oh Merlin,” Gwen implored him, “bring yourself back, too!”

Merlin smiled, and bent to kiss his Queen’s hand.  “Aye, my Lady,” he said, and with that he turned and took the Cailleach’s hand, and followed her into the dark.


End file.
